Chapter 1 - The Blood in the Dirt
The silence that followed Nora’s name felt heavy, stretching through the weeds until the rustle of the wind sounded like a warning.
The man in the cage did not let go of the rusted iron bars. His knuckles, bruised and caked with dried mud, turned stark white under the pressure. The deep-set gray eyes that had been dull with pain only moments ago were now burning with an intense, terrifying focus.
"Where is she, June?" his voice dragged out, raspy and trembling. "Where is your mother?"
June took a tiny step backward, her small pink-and-white sneakers crunching against a dry twig. The sudden intensity in his face scared her. "At home. She's making soup. She told me to stay in the yard."
The man swallowed hard, his throat moving painfully. "Is she... is she alone?"
"She lives with me," June said simply, her hand tightening around her torn little sweater. "And Mr. Gregory comes over sometimes to help fix the roof, but Mom doesn't like him very much. She says his eyes are too close together."
A strange, dark shadow crossed the man’s battered face at the mention of the name. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cold, rusted bar. "Gregory," he breathed out, a sound that was half a curse and half a ragged sob. "Julian Gregory."
June watched him carefully. "Are you a bad man?"
He opened his eyes. The rage that had flashed across his features dissolved, replaced by a desperate, soft tenderness that seemed odd on a face so badly bruised. "No, little one. I'm not a bad man. But bad men put me here." He looked at her small hands, at the worn fabric of her shoes, and his voice softened. "Your mother... does she still wear a silver lock of hair pinned behind her left ear? Does she still hum that song about the willow tree when she cooks?"
June’s eyes went wide. "How do you know that?"
"Because I searched for her for seven years," he whispered, his voice cracking. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Vance."
The name meant nothing to six-year-old June, but the emotion behind it made her heart beat fast. She reached into her little denim pocket and pulled out a battered, water-stained photograph she had taken from her mother’s wooden keepsake box three weeks ago. It was her secret treasure—the photo of a handsome man standing under a flowering apple tree, smiling down at a young woman who looked just like her mother, except her mother in the photo was laughing, not looking tired or worried.
June stepped closer to the cage, holding the crumpled piece of paper against the iron bars.
Arthur leaned forward, ignoring the agonizing groan from his cracked ribs. He looked at the tiny photo. Tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes, cutting clean trails down his dirt-streaked cheeks.
"Where did you get that?" he asked softly.
"Mom hides it under her sewing kit," June whispered. "When she thinks I’m sleeping, she takes it out and touches your face. Then she cries."
Arthur pressed his trembling hand against the metal bar, right where June’s little hand held the photo. "She didn't forget," he murmured to himself, his voice thick with emotion. "She didn't believe them."
Before June could ask who "them" was, the crunch of heavy tires on gravel echoed from the narrow access road behind the overgrown lot. A dark SUV was approaching slowly, its headlights cutting through the darkening dusk.
Arthur’s face turned deathly pale.
"June," he said sharply, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Look at me."
June looked, startled by his sudden shift.
"You have to run. Right now. You have to go home through the trees and tell your mother that Arthur is in the old brick yard. Tell her Julian found me. Tell her to take you and run if I don't come for her by midnight."
"Who's coming?" June whimpered, terror cold in her chest.
May you like
"The bad men," Arthur said, reaching through the bars as far as he could, his fingers brushing the top of her dark hair with immense softness. "Run, June. Run to your mother. Protect her."
June didn't look back. She turned on her heels and sprinted into the tall grass, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird, as the heavy doors of the dark SUV slammed shut behind her in the shadows of the vacant lot.
